Young Avengers
by XMistressChaosx
Summary: For sixteen years the Wizarding World has been searching for their beloved Boy-Who-Lived; they've finally found him living in New York City. Obviously, they want him back, but Harry won't go back unless he can bring his team with him. His team being the illustrious Young Avengers. And what role does Loki have to do play in all of this?
1. Chapter 1

**DON'T KILL ME! I know I'm supposed to working on my other stories, but this wouldn't stop bugging me and I thought I'd try my hand at. Its just a little experiment. I can't promise any real updates, sorry. I hope you guys like it and it is unbeta'd piece of work, so, I'm sorry in advance for any major mistakes, alright.**

**Harry was born in '90. There is a reason for that. Hawkeye and Stature are a older than him by five and six years respectively. With the rest of the Young Avengers you'll just have to wait and see. :D**

**I hope this whole chapter thing fits into the Young Avengers canon, besides, you know, Wiccan and Hulking, and the rest of the Avengers haven't exactly joined yet, and won't join for a chapter or two. Yeah, that's all I have to say. I hope my gibberish has made some semblance of sense.**

**I don't own Marvel or Harry Potter. Ownership to respective authors and what not.**

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**Chapter One: Meeting the Young Avengers**

* * *

The sky is painted with shades of dark purples accented by twinkling starlights for hours until large black clouds start to roll in, blocking the bright full-moon and sky from view. In seconds, the alleyway was blanketed in complete darkness. Emerald green eyes widen at the revelation; the owner of such hues scurried to an unattended cardboard box in the corner of the alley where he resided.

He closed the flaps on the side to allow only a sliver of sight to the outside. He stilled his beating heart and calmed his rapid breathing. He's been on the streets for years. He isn't afraid of the darkness like a normal child nor is he afraid of the monsters that lurk around in the obscurity. No, when the darkness rolled in, he became something of a magnet to such creatures he could never find an explanation too.

He had powers to combat these creatures, but it took a lot out of him; so much, that he usually fell into a sea of unconscious for days. Days, which he could never afford to lose. He had priorities, mainly centering around food and shelter. At the notion of food, he pulled his tattered shirt closer to his frail body and dragged his legs under his face.

He's hungry. The last he ate was off some abandoned plate of scraps, after a couple left and paid their bill at a nameless restaurant. That was over a week ago. A sudden cold chill covered him, his desire for food was left deserted. He curled further into himself, already the sound of deep sucking filled the air.

_They_ were here.

One of the creatures. The sliver to the outside permitted him to see a monster dressed in a black cloak, the sound of chains wore on its' wrist. The louder the rattling of chains grew, the deeper the sucking seemed too get until he started to hear that horrible plea resounding in his head.

He gasped, clutching his temples, realizing only too late he gave the creature his location. _"Not Harry!" _she, the person in his head, persisted. _"Anyone but Harry!"_ A high, cold laughter as a response, another plea, and then… he knew what was due to come next.

The flaps to his box burst open, and the horrid thing right in front of him, sucking whatever off of him for all its worth. Misery. Agony. Pain… all of those wretched emotions washed over him.

_"Avada K—"_

A sickening mixture of a white and green light streamed before him. He fell back onto the flimsy cardboard, his world beginning to get spin. "Hey, kid, can you hear me?" a concerned voice asked.

He struggled to fixate on the voice, seeing a teenaged blond girl with blue eyes and a machine-like man beside her. "Keep with me! Don't close your eyes!" the girl shouted, grabbing him from the box.

He nodded, not really sure what he was agreeing too. All knew was that the blond girl was warm and he was tired, very, very tired. "Kid! Kid!" she shook him, but he was tired. He wanted to tell her to stop, he was tired. He needed sleep.

"Come on, Cassie, we don't have time to stand around! There might be more!" the machine guy hissed.

"Ok," Cassie agreed. She sent a worried look to him before she was off, and that was last thing he heard or remembered before he drifted off into a past-riddled sleep.

_He swallowed all his fear and apprehension, courage bubbled up in the pit of his stomach. He finished cleaning the tile floors, pulling out the weeds. It was lunchtime, and he would use his short break to get the answer to one of his most profound questions._

_He grabbed his Aunt's attention, fisting at his oversized shirt. She prompted him with a "Hurry up, I don't have all day!"_

_He shifted uncomfortably, his stare glued on the sparkly tile floor. "Aunt Petunia," he started._ _"Do you… l-l-love me?"_

_The air seemed heavy all of the sudden. He tensed, daring to look up at his Aunt. He was taken back by the smile threatening to spread her thin lips, and the way her shoulders shook. She finally broke down, laughing in a raucous, mocking manner. "Love you?" she echoed. "Where in the world would you get that terrible idea?"_

_"No," she took a step fo_rward_,_ _he_ _took a measured step back, a scared expression painted his face. "Let me make it perfectly clear, to a __**Freak**__ like you, I hate you. No, I despise you for everything you've done, and who you are! You're __**Nothing**__!"_

_He twisted on his heel and ran into his cupboard. He placed his hand on his chest, breathing harshly. Hated? He was hated by his own family. He fell down to his thin cot, curling into a ball, desperately trying to keep his tears at bay._

_He was incredibly lonely, and that was a fact he lived with for four long years; his whole life._

"Honey?" a gentle hand shook him. He awoke with a start. His natural instinct screamed at him to move away from the potential threat or else. He scurried to the wooden headboard, away from the hand and presumably person.

"It's alright, calm down," she said. He finally noticed it was that girl from last night. He stared her over, she had light blond hair, impossibly blue eyes, and pale skin. She was also two times smaller than he last saw her. Right? Perhaps, he had been hallucinating. That usually happened after _they_ attacked.

"W-w-who are you?" he asked, wincing at how dry and raspy his voice sounded. He hardly ever talked to people; where and when would he have the chance to do so? He lived in the back alleys of New York, hiding from the cops and over sympathizing adults who supposedly had a duty to help him. He seldom opened his mouth to anyone but small strays animals, so, he could practice speaking.

"My name is Cassandra Lang, but you can call me, Cassie," she said, grinning. She stuck out a petite hand, smile still in place, "What's your name, squirt?"

He brushed off the squirt part, cocking his head at strange her question. What was his name? It had been so long since he had been called by anything official. For years, he simply lived as a being, nothing more and nothing less. So, what was his name?

Was he Freak or Nothing like his alleged Aunt Petunia called him?

Was it possible he was Harry like the mysterious red headed woman screamed so often in his dreams?

He shrugged, lifelessly. "I don't know," he said blankly. His words morphed Cassie's friendly features. She seemed to shrink literally in size, a frown replacing her kind smile. She dropped her hand into her lap along with her other, looking at him guiltily.

"What's the last thing you remember, squirt?" she inquired.

A shiver ran up his spine. "The thing with cloak and chains. It sucks and sucks."

Cassie nodded grimly, she didn't elaborate on what the thing was or when had encountered such a monster. She moved onto another subject. "Who are your parents; where are they?"

Again, he shrugged. "I don't know."

"Then, who's supposed to be taking care of you?"

He looked away from her intense gaze. An odd feeling of shame and inferiority rose up within him at the sharp question. He couldn't exactly remember why or even how, but his caretakers abandoned him in this foreign country without a glance back. They left him, all alone. "My Aunt and Uncle. They're in England, I think," he guessed.

"England?" she hissed with righteous fury, and right before his eyes she grew three times bigger.

He nodded.

"Why?" she ventured.

He shrugged, "I'm not sure, I'm sorry."

Cassie looked surprised, she blinked down at him, and then laughed heartily. "You're silly, squirt. Please, don't be sorry. Those bastards will definitely be sorry after we beat Kang's ass!" she said, jumping up from the bouncy mattress. Her grin back in place. "And you'll be an Avenger like me, we'll be your family!" she chirped enthusiastically.

He blinked. "You don't even know me and you're taking me in," he stated quietly.

"Yup," Cassie yelped, she skipped over to him, taking notice not to get too close to him. He was still in panic mode just a tad bit more calmer in Cassie's presence. "You need a name though, squirt. Do you have anything in mind?"

He mulled it over. There were so many names out there, and he theorized in his mind he felt like he had many inclinations towards tons of names. However, the name that stuck to him like glue and felt like it was his was the name the red-headed woman never stopped screaming, yelling, and pleading for. She spoke that name was so much love and desperation; "Harry. My name will be Harry."

"Is it short for something like Cassie is of Cassandra?"

He shrugged, Harry was like the perfect fit for him, but then again, he didn't know if Harry was a nickname or not. He decided to go with the first full name that popped in his mind. "Hadrian."

"Hadrian's, a strong name, Harry. We'll do last name later," she suggested. She beckoned him to get up from his bed, being right in front of him just in case he toppled to the ground. Luckily, he swayed only the slightest, otherwise moving with the same awkward fluidity he always had. "First, we'll eat, and then we'll get you a bath, and then we'll zoom right over to Stark Towers. Tony shall be able to get all your papers and proper immunizations," Cassie informed him, all very, very fast nearly giving Harry another dizzying spell.

"O… o… okay," Harry said hesitatingly, deciding it was best to just go with everything Cassie was saying. He was more interested in at how every time her pitched changed, so, did her size. It wasn't anything major; she just went from being a head shorter than he to being a head taller than himself. It was pretty amusing to say the least, and because of that Harry gradually relaxed around her. Cassie had similar powers like him.

Cassie continued to chatter, giving Harry bits and pieces about the people he was going to meet, herself, and the home they currently lived in. For starters, Cassie told him that she was like any other human before she turned fourteen. Her father, however, was the Ant Man (she said her father's name with such revered respect and love, it made Harry's heart hurt, oddly). She wanted to be like her father so, she exposed herself to a special type of particle, which gave her the ability to grow at will. At fifteen, she had begged one of her best friends, Hawkeye, to help her in joining the Young Avengers, and after some mishaps she did.

They lived in a publishing house/secret lair. They, meaning Hawkeye and Iron Lad. They were still working on assembling all their members for the team. They were all around the same age. Cassie and Hawkeye were one year apart; Cassie being sixteen and Hawkeye was seventeen years old. Iron Lad was eighteen or nineteen, Cassie wasn't exactly sure, but she and Hawkeye went with nineteen usually.

Harry abruptly stopped her tirade, a question popping into existence. "Don't the Avengers and Fantastic Four already exist? Why are you guys playing heroes?"

At this, Cassie's face hardened, "Sometimes, the original heroes aren't ready to face the problems of today or the future," she replied. She patted Harry's locks, keeping up the smile. "Enough of the depressing stuff, Harry. It's time to meet the team."

She was the first one to walk into the kitchen, Harry at her heels. A barrage of foreign smells hit Harry at once, making his stomach grumble loudly. "Food," Harry said. There was food here. He was going to eat for the first time in a week. His joy for nourishment diminished at the sight of the new people; he was like a turtle in that he poked his head and legs out for very few. Most of the time he preferred to hide in the safety of his shell.

"I see the little guy is up," said a teenaged boy with big brown eyes and curly brown hair upon his arrival. He sat in a makeshift breakfast table next to a breathtaking girl with long brown, almost black, tresses, and deep brown eyes.

"I see you have no manners as usual, Nathaniel," Cassie snapped, placing her hands on Harry's thin shoulders. She pushed him to the wooden table, pulling out plastic green chairs for the both of them. For a minute, she gathered breakfast foods on plates for both of them; generously giving Harry large portions of grits, eggs, pancakes, sausage, hashbrowns, and fried fish. She stabbed a silver fork into the eggs when she was done.

"Dig in," she ordered, biting into her eggs.

Another bout of emotion rose in him, similar to the feeling he felt when he didn't know his own name. He blew through his nose, brushing off the curious stares locked on him. "What's wrong? Are you allergic to something?" Cassie said worriedly.

Harry shook his head. "Are you a vegetarian?"

Harry hadn't a clue what a vegetarian was, but he had this weird inkling that he wasn't one of those, so, he shook his head once more.

"Is it too hot or too cold?"

Harry dismissed yet another reason for why he wasn't touching his plate. "What is then, Harry? You can tell us anything and we won't judge," Cassie told him softly.

Harry sighed once more. He just met Cassie, but he already trusted her. He pointed to the reflective silvery thing that stuck out of his fluffy yellow eggs. "What's that and how do I eat with it?"

" A fork?" Cassie picked up the utensil, waving it in Harry's face. "You don't know how to use this?"

Harry nodded, answering her question wordlessly. He sensed a growing unease in the people surrounding him, how they looked at him weirdly, almost sadly. In his limited vocabulary he couldn't find a word to describe it, but knew that he hated whatever the look was. He hated it too the core of his being. These people… they were nice, but he didn't want them to feel sadness on his account. It was his problem that he'd overcome.

The beautiful girl was the first to regain her senses. "Harry, is it?" Harry nodded timidly at her focused attention. "My name is Katherine Bishop aka Hawkeye, but you can call me Kate. Let's go get you a spoon, and then we'll talk afterwards. Hmm?"

"Ok, Kate," he tried the name on his tongue, liking how easily it flowed from his lips. She gave him an indulgent smile, getting up from her seat to go head into the main kitchen, which happened to be next to the breakfast table.

"After breakfast, we're leaving for Tony's," Cassie told him. She dropped the fork in disgust and pushed her plastic plate of food away. Harry could hear her, mumbling angrily under her breath, periodically changing sizes.

Nathaniel chuckled, switching Harry's bright gaze from Cassie to the muscled guy. "She'll be okay, kid. She's just worried about ya."

"Ooh," Harry managed. Worried. What did that word mean? It didn't sound bad or good, more like a neutral. Nathaniel picked up on his internal stress, thankfully, choosing to change the subject.

"So, do you know Tony Stark?" he questioned.

Harry shook his head. He had heard scattered fragments about the man in New York, but he had no real solid information of the man. "That's sort of nice to hear; there's one person who doesn't know who the man is," he said. "But, you have to know one thing before you meet 'im."

"Oh?" Harry raised a cautious eyebrow.

"Mhmm," Nathaniel crossed his arms. "He's an utter playboy."


	2. Dying before Lunch

**So, I updated again.^^ Thanks for all the reviewers and alerters. Refer to the former chapters for disclaimers. I'm tired as hell, and I can't process any information right now. Ah... not that I'm stingy/greedy or anything, but can I please have more than _seven _reviews for this chapter. Its my longest one yet. There are timeskips. From age 5, to 9, to 10... if I put eleven, I'm sorry. This is unbeta'd. Hopefully, its still readable.**

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**Chapter Two: Dying before Lunch **

* * *

True to her word, Cassie practically hauled him into her arms right after he finished the last bit of his breakfast. She grabbed a small purple thing, slinging it over her shoulder. Kate and Nathaniel followed behind her wearing grim expressions. In mere minutes they were already outside in the sweltering heat, hailing a yellow taxi with quick demands to get to the Stark Tower as fast as possible.

The car moved at relatively high speeds with all of them strapped in. Harry was feeling more than a little claustrophobic and motion sick in the taxi. It had been a number of years since he set foot in a car, he moved on foot since he never had money for any other mode of transportation. He struggled to keep his shifting stomach settled down firmly as he rubbed furiously at the corners of the eyes to keep his tears at bay. He found the task to be extremely hard.

All these different emotions and new exposures made him anxious, he was like a cup filled up to the brim, sooner or later he'd spill, and then everything he tried to hide would come out in a mess. He gnawed at his chapped lip, he couldn't let that happen. These nice people would grow tired of him or find some other defect and throw him back into the streets. He'd lose his name again, and then those creatures would swarm.

He'd die as a nothing.

Death wasn't a new concept to him. He saw it every day, living just barely outside her icy reach. "Hey, what's with the long face?" Nathaniel asked, poking Harry's cheek with his index finger, earning him a watery smile. Harry immediately clammed up, swiping his eyes with his dirty sleeve. Cassie still hadn't given him a bath.

"Please, don't hide from us," Nathaniel said, cooing.

His words stabbed at Harry in the worst way. He was forming bonds and connections at an almost breakneck pace. He was scared, too scared. He was afraid to destroy his fragile predicament. He sniffed, determined to keep his woes buried deep within him. "Harry…" Nathaniel spoke up.

Cassie intervened, she wrapped her thin arms around Harry. "Leave him alone," the blonde girl drawled. "Our little Hadrian will open up when he's ready." She rested her chin on Harry's head. "Right?" she directed at him.

Harry nodded. "Right," he agreed quietly. That was how the rest of the taxi ride went, with Cassie's comforting weight surrounding him like a giant security blanket and Kate and Nathaniel, who engaged Harry in conversation despite his meekness.

* * *

When Nathaniel introduced the word playboy Harry couldn't place a picture or definition to the term. However, standing in front Anthony 'Tony' Stark the Second, or more commonly known as Tony, he was the very definition… at least in Harry's mind. His humongous tower held lots of things, most of which Harry had never seen in his life, so, obviously he likened the term to play. And how he held himself and talked, Harry was reminded of the many boisterous children that ran passed his alleyway.

He wisely kept his thoughts to himself though as he stood behind Cassie, looking up at Tony's slouching although guarded form. "That filthy rat is not my child. Pepper?" Tony prompted his redheaded assistant, flipping through pages rapidly in a folder.

"Pepper," Tony whined. "You aren't listening to me."

"Huh?" She glanced up from her work to Tony before she scanned the room, landing her sharp eyes on Harry. "Is he yours?" asked Pepper without skipping a beat, Tony gaped.

"I'm offended, Pep, really. I always use protection."

Pepper arched an eyebrow at Tony, clearly showing her incredulity of her boss's word. Tony was adamant, he was sure the filthy imp wasn't his biological child in any way, and the incompetent receptionist downstairs wouldn't be able to tell the difference between an orange and an apple. Cassie decided to jump into the conversation, of course, disregarding the complete lie that Harry was related to Tony, but the semi- retired superhero owed them this much. Nathaniel somehow made his way into the mess, defending Cassie, and spitting out words such as "Kang" and "coward" with so much venom it made Harry cringe.

In fact, as Harry stood behind Cassie, listening to all the yelling and screaming from the big people in his room, he was beginning to feel scared and overwhelmed. He tugged on Cassie's red shirt to try and gain her attention, but she was using her powers, her height rapidly jumping and lowering in feet. He swiveled to Kate; she was a stoic statue.

With no one paying any attention to him and the noise in the room escalating to an almost deafening point, he ran down a random hallway, an intense burning at the back of his eyes. The single Stark Tower was a maze in itself, left, right, all the same, until he stumbled upon a single corridor. The walls were a curious painted buttercup yellow as opposed to the eggshell white of the rest of the building. There was a nary a tasteful painting or token of Tony either.

His sadness temporarily forgotten, an intense inquisitive streak replacing it. Harry was curious about the corridor. He wasn't sure where it would lead to, but for certain he would find out. His tiny legs raced down the tile floor, giddiness exuding from him. He skidded to his heels at the top of a staircase, leaning forward to try and see where it might lead.

Reason told Harry to go back to Cassie's side, there was no justification to investigate, yet, even in the streets he was too curious for his own good. The idea of the stairs leading him somewhere new and unknown spurred him on. He clung to the handrails, setting his foot firmly on the metal step.

And that was how it went, one step to another encompassed by the mellow yellow of the walls around him and lustrous metal that creaked at each step. Forty-five steps later, or rather a hundred million for Harry, he finally came at the end. He kept all sounds to awe to himself.

The room was a lab, arranged in chaotic disarray. There were rows of uniform desks where containers filled with all sorts of items suspended in gelatin substances, and a palette of liquids bubbled and frothed on desks. Machines in the corners of the labs whizzed and whirled moving with a mechanical fluidity.

An overwhelming itch covered him, he wanted to touch all the glasses and ask billions questions until the sun went down and came back up. He managed to contain his excitement with difficulty, mentally berating himself that Cassie and others surely wouldn't like it if his dirty fingers ruined the shiny see-through glass. Harry settled for strolling around, careful not to let a single desk escape his attention.

He had yet to notice a curious set of chocolate brown eyes following his every movement. The set of eyes in question belonged to an amused Bruce Banner. The brunet doctor most of the time saw fit to hide in seclusion, far, far away from any sort of living being, but today he felt strangely different. Today, he wanted to socialize.

"Hi," he greeted, wincing as his voice had an echoing effect.

Harry froze. He swiveled to face the new person, shocking him back into his shell in the process. "Hi," the guy in front of him repeated, a timid smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry!" Harry blurted out, flushing. "I-I…" he didn't have the words to explain what he was doing. He acted upon his gut and now he was sure to get in trouble. He told himself to run for it, but where would he run too? He was lost in the stupid Tower.

The man straightened up on his stool, surprised. "No, there's no reason to be sorry. I'm not mad," he tried to placate Harry, but Harry wasn't inclined to believe him. This man was an unknown factor into this equation. Harry wasn't sure if he was safe or not, and he was sure he did something to offend the man.

The man approached Harry cautiously as if he was a scared animal. He held up his hands to his chest, taking a step at time toward him, bending down to his height. Harry perplexed himself; he stood rooted at his spot not at all scared by the strange man. Harry was sure, he should be afraid of any man approaching him. He knew from experience he shouldn't ever be an area with just himself and stranger guy, especially alone.

So why? He pondered on it, letting the mindset of him offending the man lay to rest at the moment. He studied the man when he just an arms-reach away. He was dressed in a pristine white lab coat; his fingers were smudged with blue and red dry-erase marker. He was old but not too old, probably somewhere in the same age range as Tony Stark if he had to guess. None of those were the reasons why he wasn't afraid on the discovered man.

He slanted forward, squinting his eyes at the man, inspecting him a little closer. His hair, his eyes, his skin… none of it made Harry feel innately at ease. It had to be something… and then, he had revelation. Harry saw himself in the man; he carried a trait he was so intimately familiar with. "You are lonely," he stated with brute honesty.

The man blinked, but didn't deny it. "I am."

Harry grinned, showing his corn-hued enamel. "I'm used to be lonely too… I'm not lonely no more. I have Cassie, Kate, and Nathaniel."

"That's great," the man returned. Harry felt that he was very sad by his words, but he would make the man happy like he was. He took a few steps forward, placing an arm on the man's shoulder. "You have me. My name is Harry," he said lightly.

"Thank you, Harry. My name is Bruce," Bruce said, way happier than he had been moments ago, a truly genuine grin on his face. Bruce eased back up to his original height, placing his hands in his coat pockets. He fidgeted in the same manner Harry did earlier this morning with Cassie. Feeling like the man would eventually speak up like he had done, Harry waited patiently with a reassuring smile. He really felt calm around Bruce.

"Harry—"

"Big guy and Filthy!" greeted Tony in his own special way, practically hopping down the steps into the lab, and by proxy Bruce's side. Cassie and others followed behind him at a more languid pace, all of them appearing very triumphant like they conquered a major obstacle. Tony was the complete opposite; he resembled Harry when he bit into an apple that was rotten; sour.

"Tony," Bruce said, "you usually never venture further than your own lab. What brings you to my humble abode?" Tony's lips curved into a smirk, he gave the taller man a resounding slap on the back.

"So, you have been learning, young Padawan," Tony said jokingly. "These rebellious wannabe superheroes want you to be the kid's babysitter."

"Hey!" Cassie said sharply. "You were supposed to be Harry's babysitter, not Dr. Banner!"

Tony continued on as if he hadn't heard a single syllable from Cassie. Harry watched on in confusion, even if he didn't understand he liked it better this way. They weren't screaming. "All the creaks haven't been worked out yet, but the main breakdown is when school starts in a couple months, his documents shall be done in two, he's going to be here until the kids come and pick him up, or he can stay here for the night.

"When superhero business gets in the way that Cho kid that trails after Hercules like puppy will be the imp's babysitter. Capisce? No complaints; good!" Tony grinned. He headed back upstairs, extremely expensive sunglasses back in place as was his usual confident gait.

"He's gives me a headache," Cassie said, rubbing her temples. "I don't know how you deal with him, Dr. Banner."

Bruce shrugged, giving her smile that reflected all people whom were caretakers of others. He was aware of Tony's asinine personality, and the way the childish billionaire tended to cause problems, but he cared for the man regardless how annoying he became. "He's a bit like beer, an acquired taste."

Cassie and Nathaniel grumbled under their breath, no doubt disproving Bruce's explanation on Tony. Kate saddled up to Harry, ruffling his matted black hair. "We still haven't had the chance to give you a proper bath, or buy you any new clothes," she sighed. "You'll probably be staying with Dr. Banner a lot since we'll have to take on more jobs; we're a family of four now.

"At least you'll be going to school. You'll make new friends and have some awesome lessons," she said. Harry chose to keep quiet, not sure on how he should feel on the school matter. He'd never been to such a place before, but the way Kate talked about he didn't think it be so bad.

How wrong he was.

* * *

_I'm going to die before lunch_**_!_** raced through Harry's head as he frantically dropped to the stone floor out of Mr. Fantastic's reach. He didn't have time to stop and rest because Mr. Fantastic retracted his arms, and then sent his leg flying over to the small raven. Harry jumped to feet, panting as he ran the length of the gym. He took a tiny peek back at his gym teacher, that being his biggest mistake.

"Don't ever look back!" a familiar voice stated.

"What?" Harry stared ahead of himself to see his Multiple Man with five dupes of himself all wearing that infuriating smirk. While Multiple Man's only power was creating exceptional clones of himself, he was also a S.H.I.E.L.D member and skilled in several types of combat. Harry was a scrawny, knobby-kneed nine-year-old. What in the world did he do in these types of situations; these people were trained professionals with years of experience over him.

Wait! He could blind them, he knew for a fact none of them had night vision or would be prepared in the event of such a situation. Agatha, one of his many teachers in magics, just recently taught him the spell for complete darkness and binding enemies up. Now, there problem was where would he have the time too dod–!

One of the duplicates swung a fist at him, missing him by a hair's breadth. He twisted in awkward angle, almost tripping to the floor. He kept moving like a slippery eel, swift and agile, evading all attacks and opponents. He needed to find an opening fast, he couldn't dodge forever.

He searched while he twirled in the deadly dance. He moaned under breath at the realization that there was none. He had to create one himself. Figures. Lucky for him, the Fates smiled upon him today because he seemed to be bursting with good ideas. All his fingertips glowed sunshine yellow, he focused intently on Mr. Fantastic and Multiple Man, plus duplicates, shouting: "Rictusempra!"

Ten yellow beams bounded of Harry's fingers, shooting toward Harry's gym teachers, blanketing them in a bright yellow. A tense second passed for Harry as he waited to see if the charm took effect. He just about fell to the ground in sudden relief when Mr. Fantastic let out a high-pitch giggle, clutching his stomach, and Multiple Man tried to shoo away invisible hands, laughing: "S-t-AHA-p!"

Profusely thanking Agatha for teaching him that spell at the age of seven upon his arrival into her class; he got to work. Rictusempra would work for two minutes at most depending on how ticklish you were. "Nox Maximus," murmured Harry. The gym lights and any other source were darkened upon the incantation.

"Incarcerous!" he hissed. He couldn't see Mr. Fantastic or Multiple Man anymore, not having the foresight to spell his eyes against such darkness, but he heard their panting laughter, that becoming his medium. Although, the darkness obstructed any view of him seeing if the spell actually worked, he listened closely to try and hear the tell-tale rustle of rope-binding.

However, he heard nothing. Not a peep. Curious as to why he opened his right hand, silently creating an orb of light. Harry didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell after that. "Got you," breathed Multiple Man or one of his duplicates in his ear. He felt Mr. Fantastic's anaconda-like arms wrap him in a binding manner; He knew he was defeated.

The backup lights in the gym were turned on. Thankfully, he was released afterwards. Mr. Fantastic dressed in skin-tight spandex smiled down at him, ruffling his hair like he did too all the students in class. "You did well today, Harry," he praised. "You lasted five minutes. Most kids last three."

"Thanks," Harry said, tired and defeated. To think he still had math class and citizen aid next. He nodded to Multiple Man and the copies of him, trudging to the bleachers on the right side of the gym. He sent an encouraging smile to the next victim, Gabriel Summers.

Harry sat down next to his best friend since he started the Avengers Academy in first grade; Wade Wilson. Like everyone else in gym class Wade was wearing the standard uniform ensemble; red sneakers, blue shirt, a white t-shirt with the Avengers' signature symbol on the front. Unlike everyone else's, he was finishing a chimichanga with his dual red and black mask on.

Harry patiently waited a few minutes for Wade's elevenses to be done. His tended to get sword-happy if he was interrupted. "I'm surprised you survived that long," Wade said, grinning through his mask. "You were running with your tail tucked between your ass the entire time."

Harry reddened. "Shut up! Not everyone runs head on like you do!"

"True," he agreed.

"See."

"But not everybody is as awesome as me," Wade said, running a hand down his body. Harry was sure if Wade wasn't wearing his mask he'd have the same superior flirty smile Tony wore.

"You're hopeless." Harry said, rolling his eyes. He chose to move on to another, safer, subject before his talkative friend could speak. "Do you wanna come over today?"

Wade shrugged. "Sure… my parents won't care."

"Oh, okay," Harry said, inwardly cringing at how impassive and apathetic Wade sounded. The eleven-year-old seldom talked about his home life and personal issues, but when he did it gave him shivers. He wondered how anyone could call themselves parents when they barely paid their only child an ounce of attention; their interests and priorities solely laying outside of Wade.

"Are your sexy sisters going to be there?" Wade asked. Harry made a face; he could practically see the excessive drool streaming from his friend's mouth. He shook his head.

"I don't think so. Dad told me they won't be coming back till next week. The team in the Midwest really needs help."

Wade hummed, rubbing his chin. "So, do you think they'd notice if I raid their panty drawers…"

Harry concentrated his magic into a single fist, punching Wade in the arm. He wore an expression of righteous little brother protectiveness. "Try it and I'll kill you!" he threatened, relaxing a bit at Wade's wince.

Wade rubbed his arm, shooting him a pointed look, but he said nothing, which meant he hadn't taken heed to the threat. Harry blew out a puff of noxious carbon dioxide, carding his fingers through his hair. Wade was utterly helpless, but Harry promised himself that he'd always stand by the older boy.

* * *

There were laws against this; reckless child endangerment. He was going to die and right before lunch too. Why was it always right before lunch? He eyed a large brown and red spotted snake. He had to defeat that to pass the fifth grade. Why, oh why?!

"Holy!" Harry sidestepped and rolled down the cracked asphalt, the thing's tail slammed onto ground just where he was. He stood up in record time, ignoring the way his world shook. Harry called his broomstick whom he nicknamed Rocket. It was an antsy couple of seconds. He grinned in relief as his broom came zooming toward him; he readied himself to jump onto the polished wood at the right time, which came with some practice.

He was happy that he managed to do so because the giant humongous Python monster began attacking again. It began coiling around the tallest building in New York City, which happened to be Tony's Tower, snapping and hissing along its ascension. Gods above, he was the leader of this mission, but what in the world was he supposed to do?

He needed a plan! He was never good at those. Thinking on his feet was specialty, but with a large of groups of people his specialty became null and void. He gritted his teeth, gripping Rocket, and making a minute to decision to grab Peter Parker from the desolate streets of New York City. He hoisted the slightly bigger boy onto the back of his broom, telling him to hold on.

He swerved his broom to a small unnoticed building, landing at the top. He took the moment to breathe deeply before he launched into frantic words, hoping that Peter would make sense of his nonsense. As expected, Peter blinked at him, pushing sweaty brown hair out of his eyes. "Speak English, man," panted Peter. He sat on ground, seemingly relaxed by the cool breeze.

Harry gulped. "Ok! Gabriel and America are protecting the citizens, Felicia is off somewhere, I'll go get her later. I need you though to snap Python's mouth shut and then Felicia and I will destroy its heart… when we find the heart. Do you know where a snake's heart is?" Harry frowned at Peter's deadpanned look. It wasn't like snake's heart was common knowledge, or was it?

"It's hard to believe your Dr. Banner's son and Iron Man's nephew," commentated Peter. Harry flushed a dark red, averting his eyes. Not many knew that Harry wasn't actually the famous Dr. Banner's son or Tony's nephew by blood. He had been adopted by Dr. Banner just before his sixth birthday. "A snake's heart is located…" Harry gaped.

"Wait," Harry stopped him in his tangent. "I just learned that the Earth spins on axis. I don't understand all those science-y terms," he elaborated. Peter scratched his head.

"A snake can change its' heart position since it sometimes has to ingest prey larger than it. However, its heart should be near its head or near the middle of his body," Peter said dryly. Harry nodded, well, now he knew where its weak spot was. It was time for action.

He gathered his broomstick, waving to Peter to hold onto him yet again. He kicked off the ground hard, heading back to the wannabe King Kong, whose hiss happened to spit corrosive acid wherever it landed. That would be tough on Peter; he had to protect the older boy somehow. Agatha had just breached protective spells and runes with him. He steadied the broom with his right hand, reaching back to grab Peter's hand with his left.

"Hey—"

"Shut up, Parker, I gotta concentrate!" he hissed. Offensive magic was completely different from Defensive magic. He struggled to learn the one spell his teacher taught him, which was Contego.

He murmured "Contego," trying to erect an invisible shield over Peter. It wasn't anything special, but it repelled from liquids and a lot of hits. Hopefully, it would be strong enough to protect him from the rampaging lizard. "You're all set, Parker," he said, feeling just a bit lightheaded.

He shot toward Godzilla Junior like a bullet, cautiously inching toward the agitated viper. When he hovered just twenty above it, he glanced back Peter. He mirrored Harry perfectly; they were both extremely terrified. "Harry," Peter said trepidation clear.

"I know," Harry said, shaking. "We'll both be okay."_** It's not real, **_Harry added on silently, hoping the message was conveyed in some way. The principle and all their teachers were watching them. "All you ready, Pete?" said Harry.

"As I'll ever be," Peter said and then he dropped from Harry's broom, already he was shooting webs to attach himself to buildings. He studied Peter in awe, rarely ever having the chance to see the mini-genius in battle. He realized that he had no time to sit and dally. He had to find Felicia.

Pure simple luck led him to find the silver haired female sitting on a perch next to a stone gargoyle. He yet to speak two words when Felicia latched onto him and his broom, a cattish smirk presently attached on her pouty pink lips. "Hello, Harry," she said. "I was waiting for you."

"Of course, you were," Harry said. "I hope you have your bows and arrows because we're fighting Python head on!"

"Ooh, sounds fun," Felicia cooed. "My bows are plentiful. I'm ready when you are." Harry nodded decisively. Felicia was brave, braver than he at the moment, but he reminded himself that he had a duty to be the hero and protect city. He flew to the Tony's tower at top speed.

Thank the Gods; Peter was alive, managing to subdue the wild beast. His created an impenetrable white web all over the snake's mouth, gluing its giant head onto the building. "Harry!" he yelled from down below. "Its heart it where the big diamond is!" he screamed. Harry had not the time to thank Peter, but he promised to give return Peter's favor.

"Aim for the diamond," Harry threw back to Felicia. In his peripheral vision he could see Felicia notch up her silver arrow. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Uh huh!" she said against the wind. In a spectacular show of skill he nosedived down, and then abruptly pulled up. From he was stationed he could see the snake in intricate detail; how each scale fitted into one another and how each muscle of the snake thrashed in a ferocious frenzy, annihilating cars and stores… all of which surrounded it.

"Wait," he said to both himself and Felicia, she froze against him, her keen eyes scanning about the eerily quiet city for any sign of enemies.

"Yes?"

"Hand me your bow and arrow," he demanded. She did so wordlessly, raising her silver eyebrow. How fortunate he was that he tamed his Rocket's riotous sentient being. He balanced himself precociously on Rocket, grasping the items. Of all the things, Agatha taught him, this was one of his greatest skills besides offensive spells, which charms, hexes, and what not's. Charms work, imbuing objects with his magic and will was his second specialty skill set.

There was no set word or motions for what he planned to do. It was skill one either did or did not have. He happened to have it. The smooth black of the bow, was washed with a sheen of light blue as was the sharp arrow notched in its taut hold. The arrowhead itself glowed an iridescent acid green; an easy poison, but dangerous all the same. He gave the arrow the strength to penetrate through steel, and a small will of its own to fly to its intended target: never too stray.

"Shoot at the diamond with everything you have!" he said, handing the bow back at her, appearing without the colors seen not a minute ago.

"Roger that!" she gave her affirmative. She repositioned herself, and Harry flew closer. Harry felt her tense beside him and then she let her arrow fly. He watched with hungry eyes, close to leaning forward, the arrow cut through the air hitting the diamond bull's-eye. The arrow sunk in a bit deeper leaving a pond of green, eating and disintegrating the hazel diamond.

The python made a sharp keen, unwinding from Tony's tower, tipping back to crush at least ten steel and titanium buildings with its sheer weight. It twisted with turned with its sinister coil in utter agony. Yet, at his young age he found no pity for the strange creature. No pity at all. Several minutes passed and finally the thing was dead.

Mission completed. Thank the Gods! The holographic image popped, and they were back in a huge lab at least the size of ten football fields, several miles underneath the Earth and the Avengers Academy for Mutants. America and Gabriel came from a giant cavern, Harry and Felicia descended down gracefully, and Peter, the stupid showoff, swung down to the compact ground in a series of midair tumbles and flips. Kid was a freaking Olympic gymnast.

As soon as they were all together on the ground, they blinked once and then twice, and then ragged laughter filled the air. Their hands found each other with shoulder pats and high fives, all congratulating each other at a job well-done… poking fun at minor mistakes and blunders they each made. They were happy, ecstatic even. They completed their mission even if fake.

For a couple of hours they were the superheroes that they all sought to be. Harry would be lying if didn't say it felt insanely good. "All of you did very well, especially you, Hadrian Banner," a deep voice said. Harry blushed, turning from Gabriel to face Nick Fury; the principal of the academy.

"I couldn't have done anything without my team's help," Harry said, earning a round of whoops and claps from the preteens surrounding him. Principal Fury stared at him critically from his one eye, still having that imposing and dangerous air to him. "It's true, sir."

"I like a hero that understands humility. Perhaps, your uncle could learn a thing or two from you," said Principal Fury, amused. "You did a good job, Hadrian. All of you did a good job. You pass, see you next year."

When Principal Fury had gone, Harry cheered along with the other kids too. They passed! Cassie, Wade, Kate, Nathaniel, Dad, and all the new members added to the Young Avengers were sure to have a party waiting for him and his friends as soon as he got home. The thought of that sent him into another tizzy.

Harry stifled a yawn, stretching up high.

"You tired?" Peter asked, mirroring his yawn. He rubbed at his eyes, yawning yet again. He was tired too as were all the others.

"So, are we all in favor of taking a short nap before we head off to the festivities?" Gabriel said, rubbing his shaggy black hair, trying to hide his yawn.

"Yes," they all chorused.

"To the bunkers we go then," Harry yawned yet again and started to walk.


	3. Mistletoe

**Okay, I updated. I know it is a short chapter, but I liked the place where I stopped, so, I'm keeping it. Thanks for all the attention you guys. My head is killing me; I'll wrap this up really quick. Unbeta'd.**

* * *

**Young Avengers: Mistletoe**

* * *

"Huh?"

"Is that him?"

"Could it be; oh Merlin!"

"I can't see him!"

...was the main gist in the fervent whispers that followed Neville Longbotton; the acclaimed Boy-Who-Lived. He held himself with a certain confidence, strutting on the olden cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Kids of all ages looked upon him with hungry eyes, each trying to catch a glance of the fabled boy that had been their hero since most of them could remember.

Normally, Neville wouldn't be out and about in public unless it had something to do with the media. His grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, had been setting such events up since he was a mere six-years-old. For countless hours, his grandmother drilled in him a warped tale of the night the Dark Lord had fallen, and from that tale he told the mass public.

Of course, Neville couldn't hope to recant the events that transpired – he rubbed at T-shaped scar hidden under the layers of robes he wore. His Gran had told him, time and time again that was where the Dark Lord shot, and it rebounded, killing the greatest evil of the century. Sometimes, Neville dared to transverse down the rocky pathways in his mind. His skin prickled like a thousand tiny needles poking at his skin; sometimes… he doubted his personal epic. Did he really kill the Dark Lord?

"Neville!" barked his gran, jolting him from his thoughts. He ran straight into his grandmother's imposing form. He bounced back, rubbing his pudgy nose. "Neville, stop dawdling, you must put up a front in public! You are the example." She sniffed at him, only choosing to walk into the now noticed dilapidated Ollivander's when he bit out a meager;

"Yes, grandmother."

He proceeded in her footsteps inside Ollivander's. The wand store was one that every kid in Great Britain stopped by before they headed to the great wizarding school of Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry. Inside, he felt a peculiar chill in his innards, but it was gone before he had a chance to question it. His grandmother sat in the one wooden rickety chair, zapping his behind to move him along to the raised pedestal.

"Ah, so, you're the hero everyone's been chattering about in these parts," said a mystic voice. Neville fought to control his bodily functions and not tense up. An elderly man with watery light grey hues came from the shadows of the shop. He sent Neville a smile that seemed to hold many untold secrets before shifting his gaze to his grandmother.

"Dear Augusta, it's been quite a while since I last bonded you with your wand; laurel wood, core of dragon heartstring, strong and unyielding, if I remember correctly. I presume it still works?" the strange man said with a hint of amusement, raising a fuzzy white eyebrow.

"Just try and win her allegiance, Ollivander," smirked his grandmother. She whipped out the buttercup tinted wand from her sleeve holster, a spark of deadly lightning lit from the tip.

Ollivander chuckled although it sounded more like a drawn-out wheeze like those muggle toys made when their squeaker was broken. He regained his composure, poking and prodding at Neville asking him tons of miscellaneous questions. At long last, he asked a question that he could actually answer. "Which arm is your wand arm?"

"L-left," Neville stuttered, detecting his grandmother's vicious snort. She'd never liked that he was left-handed; she came from a time where left-handers were a sign of a Dark wizard, or one who would eventually become a believer in the dark arts. He held out his left arm shyly for Ollivander to measure.

"Remarkable, Mr. Longbottom," said Ollivander. Neville blushed. Imagine that; his left hand remarkable.

"Stop indulging the boy," admonished his grandmother. "Nothing but trouble has come from a left-handed wizard!" And just like Neville plummeted down to an all-time low. His grandmother never approved of anything he did lest it had to do with Boy-Who-Lived business.

"Maybe," hummed Ollivander boosting Neville's feelings of inferiority further. "However, amazing people have also come out… like Godric of Gryffindor or the great Merlin."

His grandmother clearly showed her thoughts on the matter if her harrumphs were anything to go by. Neville, meanwhile, swelled in happiness. Ollivander disappeared back into the shadows of his shop, coming back out with his arms laden with dusty old boxes. He summoned a table, placing all the boxes onto the solid service; the tops of the containers flew off revealing shiny multicolored wands.

Ollivander pointed a black wand to his farthest right. "Go on, my boy. Just wave it around," he wheedled. Neville hesitantly picked it up, waving it as Ollivander said, only for the wand to grow unbearably hot. He dropped it with a yelp, apologizing over and over again. "Try again," Ollivander pointed to a stark white one. He waved it, only for a light bulb to blow out. The pudgy boy set it down back in its spot.

"No sad faces, Longbottom. Wands are temperamental beings that choose the wizard!" Ollivander crowed. "Choose another!" Neville tentatively tried a lustrous, tall, and thin brown one. A tingle shot up his arm, he waved it around and created a flurry of glowing lights, but Neville felt like it didn't belong to him. He felt a connection, but it wasn't a profound or special one; he set it down.

Next to the brown one sat a much smaller floral pink wand cushioned around pink petals of the cherry blossom tree. His fingers only skimmed the wand, the effect being almost immediate. He picked it up with more confidence, a charm falling from his lips, "Flora," he said with vigor. Beautiful, colorful, vibrant flowers sprouted from the dusty shop floors— warmth cocooned him.

"Fantastic!" said Ollivander. His grey eyes misty. "Cherry wood with a core of dragon heartstring, 9 1/2 inches." He offered no more moving passed the table to the front desk. His grandmother grabbed him by the shoulder, her sharp fingernails digging into his skin. She marched up to the register, fishing out the money from her purse.

His grandmother was angry. He could already read the signs on her pinched face, her manicured eyebrows almost, but not quite knitting together, and her aquamarine irises a tumultuous arctic blue. His grandmother would not express her displeasure until they arrived in the privacy of the Longbottom Manor.

Ollivander handed Neville his wand and a wand holster (his grandmother paid an extra five sickles for it). "I hope to see you again, Mr. Longbottom. Have a nice day."

"Thank you," Neville returned meekly. His grandmother led him outside and apparated them to the Longbottom Manor.

Once at home, his grandmother barely glanced at him. She went down their main hallway, her walk rigid and tight, most likely on her way to the floo, she had to fabricate a wondrous story for the press that he had chosen his wand and gotten his school supplies, he was eager for Hogwarts. Neville stared after her sadly, waving off all the bustling house-elves that surrounded him. He hoped that when he finally got to Hogwarts he'd someone end up as a regular boy in his grandmother's eyes. Perhaps, she'd finally acknowledge him for something else other than his title.

Perhaps.

* * *

Harry blew a piece of black hair from his face, pouting petulantly. He walked along the cracked sidewalks of Greater New York with Peter Parker at his side. The eleven-year-olds wore the uniform of the Avenger Academy: a pair of brown slacks, a white t-shirt with the Avenger logo and a class hoodie or coat. The slacks were seen as optional depending on what season it was. Both Peter and Harry knew they looked stupid in these outfits, but it was a requirement they both had to follow especially since they were doing Outside Citizen Aid.

Harry thought that meant they'd see all sorts of crimes and whatnots, and he would have to stop all the bad guys and be hailed as some type of hero. He was quickly disillusioned. Nothing happened on their patrol duty. The worse they had to deal was two teenaged guys robbing a convenience store with two fake guns. He sucked in a breath.

Fun.

"Cheer up, Harry," Peter said, trying to be optimistic. Harry glared at the mini-hero that reminded him of Captain America. He had a feeling the kid would be great with children one day, and girls would flock to him like nobody's business. "At least we don't have to deal with Professor X's tactic-math class," he said happily.

Despite himself, Harry perked up a little. Peter was right. No homework from Professor X's class meant no agonizing stress over five problems that took three hours to do. It also meant no brush-up quiz the next time he had the class. Harry added a spring into his step. "I guess—," he started to say only for it to die in his throat.

Up ahead he saw a group of guys and girls, most likely middle or early high school students, were in a taut circle. Harry could only spot a slim crack in crowd, from the crack he saw a young boy lying on the ground, curled up in a fetal position; rocks and other items thrown at him. It wasn't hard to deduce what was going on, they were beating the boy up, and no one moved to help him.

Red spectacled his vision, Harry ran toward the crowd full-force with Peter on his heels. He barreled his way through the circle, finding himself in the middle of the previously rowdy teens. Harry stood in front of bruised boy, his arms stretched out wide. "What the _**fuck**_ do you think you're doing?" his small voice was laced with power. "Tell me," he prompted dangerously, "unless each and every one of you wants to spend a night in prison."

A tall, caramel-skinned boy stepped from the crowd, pushing his glasses up on his acne-riddled nose. "You can't do that!" he said. "Only the police can, and you're nothing but a kid."

Harry grinned benignly at him although his glare spelt pain. "Step back in line. That's not the answer I want. Anyone else willingly to take a shot before you all go downtown?"

This time a girl stepped forward, a bored look painted on her milky face. She smacked her gum loudly, crossing her arms. "The unnatural faggot turned our football captain gay," she sneered. The crowd followed suit, once again throwing slurs and rocks at the poor lad. The boy on the ground curled up even further. Harry's anger grew; he was like a bubbling volcano just waiting to explode. He waved a hand over the boy, creating an invisible shield over him to protect him from the items, and to isolate him from the jeers mindlessly given.

"He turned your football captain gay?" Harry repeated incredulous. His magic crackled around him, yearning to be free and show these kids a lesson but he stopped. It wasn't his place. "Peter," he said through gritted teeth. "Tie the group of assholes up. We'll call the school to get further instructions."

The group of kids paled, beginning to run away, but Peter's web-shooters were too fast. In a mere minute, fifteen students were glued to the closest wall, a solid white splattered across through their lips. Seeing the problem temporarily solved, Harry crouched down to inspect the boy. The shield he put place disappearing. He took care to remember personal boundaries as he approached him inch by inch.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Harry said softly, holding up his hands. He tried to keep his temper in check when he saw the dirty jockstrap used as a gag, the puddle of mysterious liquid surrounding the guy's black hair and the dark spot in the front of the guy's jeans. Not to mention, he couldn't even protect himself with arms and legs bound.

Just what in the Sam's heck were the numbskulls trying to accomplish? He had half a mind to do the same to the boy's bullies. The boy certainly deserved retribution. He breathed through his nose, muttering a rudimentary releasing spell. The boy gasped, scrambling away from his attachments, keeping his stare on Harry.

"What do you want with me?" the boy fired off, suspicious.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Are you okay?"

The boy scooted back, shaking his head. Harry moved in closer, spotting the bruises on the boy's pale skin and the cuts on his lips and forehead. He needed medical attention right away. Wait, Harry took that back. The boy was healing rapidly right before his eyes, and exuding a lot of magical power, a little bit more than himself, actually.

The boy was a mutant like he.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"Billy," he said, backing up another three inches.

Harry nodded. "I'm Harry," he said, whistling afterward. He was calling his broomstick, Rocket. Hopefully within the next five minutes before he and Peter were due to leave to continue their patrol duty, they would be able to convince the boy to join the Academy, or at the very least train with them. Harry's gut twisted, he knew that Billy was integral to the future. He just wasn't sure how.

* * *

Harry's thirteen when he starts to dream of a big black dog and those shadowy monsters from his childhood that sucked and sucked all of the possible joy from a person. He dreamed of a sprawling castle filled with ghosts and jovial kids. He dreamed of a man with a long, long bone-white beard and twinkling blue eyes.

He also dreamed of a terribly handsome, but lonely boy with dark brown hair and intelligent brown eyes. Through his dreams he can feel the loneliness powering the darkness within the boy to become something dark, to become something feared; to be someone.

But, behind that boy, Harry can see a shadow of a smile, a glimmer of emerald green and a shimmer of winter blue.

At thirteen Harry dreamed, and from his dream he awoke with a hand full of mistletoe.


End file.
